


After Everything

by Pandelion



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon-compliant for The Hobbit, M/M, i'd call it a fix-it fic but i'm really not sure it actually fixes anything tbh, not quite so compliant for the end of The Return of the King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandelion/pseuds/Pandelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield closes his eyes on Middle Earth with the bright blue of the sky and the red and black of the battle around him foremost in his sight. The cries and shouts of friend and foe fill his ears, then fades away, and he knows nothing more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Everything

Thorin Oakenshield closes his eyes on Middle Earth with the bright blue of the sky and the red and black of the battle around him foremost in his sight. The cries and shouts of friend and foe alike fill his ears, then fades away, and he knows nothing more.

When he wakes, it is to silk on stone and the distant clamor of mining, constant in the further tunnels of Erebor. He listens for a long minute, certain that this is a dream-memory of had-been and may-yet-be. Wakefulness drags at him, but he holds on as long as he can, comforted by the long-familiar sound.

When he finally lets go and opens his eyes, the sounds of mining have not diminished and he finds a smooth ceiling of rock above him rather than the smoke-tinged blue sky he last remembers.

Carefully, he sits up, but there is not the sharp pain of recent wounds, nor the ache of half-healed injuries. His clothing, when he looks, is unstained and clean, a far cry from the travel-stained and bloody clothes he’d been wearing. His skin is unbroken and he runs wondering fingers over a nonexistent scar on his hand.

Curious now, he looks about, only to find himself in the King’s quarters, familiar from his childhood when he would play with Dis and Frerin while their grandfather tended to kingly duties. The tapestries and furniture are less familiar, but they hang in the same places and it looks much the same as he’d last seen it.

The door, when he tries it, is unlocked and leads out to a wide corridor beyond. Thorin treads slowly, looking about him at signs of life and livelihood in these halls of the past. Eventually, he comes to a balcony, overlooking the throne hall and allowing a glimpse to the mines far below.

The mountain is full of his people, men and women whose faces he does not know, children he does not recognize, but they are all familiar to him, going about their lives as if the dragon never was. Thorin has to hold onto the barrier, knuckles going white, as he takes it in.

Erebor, restored to its full glory and prosperous and wealthy. He had dreamt of it, in memory and in hope, but somehow it had never quite seemed a reality. This, the stone under his palms tells him, is real.

“Uncle!” Kili calls and Thorin turns automatically, finding his sister-sons grinning at him from the far end of the balcony, near the stairway that would lead down to the throne. “Northri and Threkk have quarreled over a vein of silver and they call for your judgement.”

“I will be there in a moment,” Thorin replies automatically. Fili nods and grabs at his brother, pulling him down the stairs. Thorin watches them go, wondering.

He had been in battle, this he knows. He had fought against the orcs and goblins, fought alongside men and elves and eagles and one particular hobbit. He had fought…and fallen. His hand goes to his side, where he can still remember his lifeblood leaving him, staining the ground more with every breath.

Fili and Kili had been nearby, he remembers, their blades on either side of his.

Thorin looks again down upon his kingdom, this mountain city that he had sought to regain. He looks and wonders what other old, familiar faces he might find.

~*~

How long it has been, Thorin is no longer sure. The days flow together here, one into the next. There are changes, of course. Constantly, they delve further into the mountain, unearthing yet more ore and precious stones, and the men of Dale and the elves of the Greenwood come often, bringing trade and news.

But since he woke in the King’s chambers, Thorin has noticed a certain…sameness.

It is not all bad, he supposes, and there are minor quarrels and feuds and other issues that press upon his time, so it is not boring or idyllic, but there is a sense that this is a place where nothing truly bad or evil can reach. He would feel guilty about how relieved he is, but he cannot bring himself to do so. Thorin has had enough of strife and hardship for himself and his people. He would not wish it upon this place, here and now.

Besides, he thinks, Fili and Kili are enough excitement for any dwarvish kingdom. His nephews are currently huddled to one side, heads close together as they talk. Thorin will have to keep an eye on them; it’s been long enough since their last antics and they are young yet and prone to seeking out trouble when it is not quick at their heels already.

Today has been slow, with just a small queue of supplicants, and Thorin is considering cutting the audiences short to walk down among the mines, see the work and progress there. He deals with the last supplicant, a young couple seeking leave to tunnel a new path, and is preparing to rise when he glances to the far end of the hall.

Thorin is not as young as he once was, though he sometimes feels he is younger than he should be in this place, but his eyesight is still good enough to see the figure hesitating at the approach to the throne.

For a long minute, he stares, disbelieving. Then he is up and nearly running the length of the hall, strides and breath coming quick and quicker.

He knows the moment he is recognized. Bare feet hurry towards him and they meet halfway, Thorin nearly engulfing the halfling.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he mutters into brown curls.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” he hears in reply and the smile is audible. “I did not imagine I would see you again, even after…well.” Bilbo pulls back and it is a struggle to let him, to put space where Thorin would wish there to be none. “You are looking well, O King,” the hobbit says after a moment and this time Thorin can see the smile and he thinks that perhaps the sight is worth the space between them.

“As are you, Master Burglar,” he says, not bothering to suppress his own smile. It’s true; Bilbo looks no older than he had the last time Thorin set eyes on him and considerably cleaner, considering it had been some time since they had had the use of more than river water, heated over an open flame.

Bilbo looks past Thorin, at the halls and caverns around them, full of life. “This is…far more than I had ever imagined,” he says, “even having seen these halls before.”

“This is Erebor,” Thorin says, turning to look with him.

“Your Kingdom Under the Mountain,” Bilbo says. “I am glad you have found it.”

“I think it found me, rather,” Thorin tells him. “And I belong to it, not it to me.”

Bilbo nods. He hesitates, then asks, “If you…have you…?”

“Balin is here,” Thorin supplies when Bilbo falters. “As are Ori and Óin. Of the others I have no word.”

“And Fili and Ki—”

“Master Baggins!” Kili cries, having finally noticed Thorin’s absence from the throne. The brothers sweep Bilbo into a tight hug, nearly lifting him off the floor before returning him to Thorin’s side. “I did not think we would see you in these halls!”

“It seems there is much we did not think would pass that has since happened,” Bilbo replies, rubbing at one shoulder even as he smiles at the brothers. Fili grins at him.

“Aye, well, this is one I am glad for, nonetheless. Welcome to Erebor, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo, please,” Bilbo corrects. “By now, I should think you might use my name.”

“Very well,” Fili agrees and Kili beams at Bilbo. “Welcome to Erebor, Master Bilbo,” they say in unison, bending into deep bows.

“Ah, well, thank you,” Bilbo manages, flushing. Thorin chuckles.

“Begone with you,” he tells his nephews. “There will be time aplenty for you to pester Master Bilbo later.”

Still grinning, Fili and Kili leave them, ducking down a side corridor. Thorin watches until they are out of sight, then turns back to Bilbo. He wants to reach out and pull the hobbit close to his side and then he remembers that, here, he can. Bilbo squeaks at the move, then huffs when Thorin laughs.

“I have not missed you,” the hobbit grumbles, though the smile playing about his lips gives lie to his words.

“Ah, but I have missed you, halfling,” Thorin confides. He ducks his head to press a kiss to Bilbo’s brow. “Come, let me show you my home.”

“If you must,” Bilbo sighs, though it does nothing to hide his pleasure. Then he brightens further. “I say. You’re actually king, now, and I imagine that being king means you have rather spacious rooms?”

“It does indeed,” Thorin tells him as they start walking. “Perhaps we shall leave that to the last.”

“I think I would rather like that,” Bilbo says, glancing up at him with a smile and Thorin is immensely glad for whatever power saw fit to give him such a reward.

After everything, to be here, in his home, with those he loves dearest.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my tumblr.
> 
> Just a bit of self-indulgence, really.


End file.
